What God Wants
by darkforetold
Summary: Dean/Castiel. After sacrificing so much for Dean, Castiel does whatever is necessary to get what he wants.  He'll lie and cheat; things Dean has taught him well.  In the end, all that matters is what God wants.


_He delighted in the way it felt on his skin; warm and wet, pleasant as if it was always meant to be there. It was dark and thick like sanguine candle wax, settling into congealed droplets while fresh channels sped freely down his arm. The smell of it was rich, earthy and the contrast was striking. It was the scarlet ink on blank canvas—this blood on sun-kissed flesh. His fingers and hands ran red with it, slick and perfect. Like a fine, aged wine, he could taste a myriad of flavors in its coppery hues; fear, anger, regret. And all of them, together, made his head swim with the excitement of it. _

"_Dean… please."_

_Dean smiled coldly and brushed a thumb against Sam's face. It was such a beautiful sight to behold; his beloved, little brother strapped tight, defenseless and weak. The blood loss was significant. Like a dark sea, it pooled around him and ran off the slab's edges, staining the floor with red splotches. He felt no remorse for this, only the pronounced keening of adrenaline that prickled and lit his skin on fire. _

_This was Hell and Sammy was just another soul to torture._

"_It'll be okay, Sammy. I've got you."_

_Despite being the conductor of pain and torment, Dean lavished his brother with delicate touches, soothing him with gentle words to placate his fears. He stabbed a finger into one of the many, open wounds on his brother's body, hooked and spooned a droplet of blood to marvel at its purity. It tasted sweet, decadent and Dean savored it on his taste buds, swirling it to revel in its depth and glory. Sam barely had the wherewithal to respond, to even squirm, too weak from the loss of blood to do anything other than focus on the simple act of breathing. With a dark smile stretched across his face, Dean leaned in just to feel the shortness of his brother's breath against him, the fragile signal that betrayed Sam's fading condition._

"_Dean…"_

_Dean broke the contact and stepped back to hover just by his brother's side. Nearly shaking with anticipation, he watched Sam's face as the knife sliced into his body yet again. The tastes and smells were nothing compared to the beauty of Sam's cries, the way his faced contorted with the pain. The blade sparkled with dark intent as it came forward to hack away at chunks of flesh, drawing out another pathetic whimper from a throat too hoarse to scream. The tool was sharp and perfect in its destruction, rending flesh from bone in messy and jagged pieces as if they were designed to fit a gruesome jigsaw puzzle. _

_Only when Dean was satisfied did he pause to admire his handiwork. His sickening grin said everything. Dean loved the way his brother's entrails hung from the gaping hole in his stomach, the wet slap of gore on the floor. The smell of it all, the sights, the slippery sensation of organs in his hands. All of it was pure, unadulterated perfection._

_Dean watched as the light faded from Sam's eyes, smiled as his last breath passed through bruised lips. Affectionately, Dean stroked his hair and leaned in to whisper…_

"_I love you, Sammy."_

Dean's bedroom stretched seamlessly while the soft pitter-patter of rain continued outside the window. The quiet was marred by his hushed whimpers, frantic sounds that soon became a chorus of fear—notes that pitched and waned with the images of his inspired nightmare.

In the dark, Castiel watched silently.

The room provided little in the way of light, but Castiel could see that Dean was covered in a sheet of his own perspiration. The air was hot and thick, uncomfortable and clung to Dean like a second skin. The hellish nightmare continued uninterrupted and Dean tossed and turned under the duress of its horrors. As Dean suffered, as he called out his brother's name desperately, Castiel felt a measure of comfort. Comfort in the knowledge that what he was doing was absolutely necessary. Needed because fear was required in order for Dean to love him. After all, wasn't that what Castiel's Father had taught him? That, through fear, came obedient love? To Castiel, it was a universal truth and he was unmoving in its logic.

The souls inside of him swelled with joy as he orchestrated the graceful swipe of the knife, filled him with love as blood poured endlessly out of Sam's dreamscape body. At their core, these sentient beings were essentially evil. They delighted in pain and suffering and in the destruction that only a God could unleash. It was a constant battle between what Castiel knew what was right and their demands. And every day the line that separated him from them began to blur, that soon he wouldn't be able to tell where his souls ended and he began. He had begun to accept the inevitable; that wrong would begin to appear so very right and indecency would soon become his modus operandi. It was as sure as the flow of time and absolutely illogical to fight against it. And why should he? There was nothing to fight for.

With each and every startled breath from Dean's throat, those precious souls praised him. It was an addiction; these praises, the declarations of love and adoration—things he had never received from the Winchester boys. These souls had filled a gaping hole and supplied him with what he needed most; a sense of belonging, acceptance and love. They promised he would never be abandoned and embodied the true sense of family; a fundamental piece that he'd been missing since the dawn time. Now, completed, fueled by the acceptance and worship of his souls, the new God felt empowered, free to pursue and obtain anything he had ever desired.

Even Dean.

From the foot of the bed, Castiel could feel Dean's pulse thunder and rise as his nightmare reflection stepped back to admire the bloody pieces of his brother. In this reality, Dean whimpered, nearly cried out as imaginary organs slipped through his fingers. Castiel felt it all; the fear, the despair, the tearing of Dean's soul as he whispered into his brother's ear the words he struggled to say in this lifetime. He felt Dean's pain and suffering as if it were his own, could hear his thoughts if he cared to. Castiel had become his Father, nearly all-knowing, all-powerful. Yet he would be so different in so many ways.

Castiel would be a better God.

The dream concluded with Dean's crying out. It was loud and raw, honest in its depth and complete in its abhorrence. He lurched up into a sitting position on the bed and gulped in air with a ragged gasp, lungs expanding with gluttony as if he had been without it for ages. Castiel could hear Dean's heart punch out notes against his ribcage, beats that were inscribed with fear, sadness and… _Sammy_. As Dean leaned forward, dropping his head in his hands, Castiel couldn't suppress the slight justification that he felt, as if every ounce Dean's torment began to knit close the open wound the hunter had left behind. Immediately, Castiel knew that it wasn't the right way to feel, that the souls accentuated that darkness within him. Castiel should have felt more sorrowful, should have felt more pity as Dean still quaked under the vestiges of his nightmare. But he didn't. He had a need for vengeance, an 'eye for an eye' and the desire to trade pain for pain. In his own mind, Castiel had become almost too human.

Oblivious, Dean threw back the sheets and slid to his feet, clothed only in a thin t-shirt and his underwear. Sam was at the forefront of Dean's mind, the concern about his brother's safety canceling out everything else in his world. All Dean wanted was to find his Sammy sleeping peacefully on the couch downstairs. No blood, no knives, no torture. Just Sam. Castiel knew that Sam always came first with Dean. Nothing else ever mattered. Castiel couldn't deny the tumultuous stab in his gut. Like his Father before him, Castiel was a jealous God.

Thunder crashed outside and growled across the dark skies under the silent will of its new Creator. And with Castiel's sadness, with his longing for Dean, came the quickening of rain, splattering against the windows and rolling down glass like tears. Castiel had learned that the weather was his marionette puppet, attached to the strings of his emotions. Another perk or disadvantage, he couldn't tell.

_What a fucking horrible nightmare._

Castiel couldn't resist tuning in to Dean's thoughts, couldn't deny the want to know everything that he had locked down deep inside of himself for so long. In that moment of brief exploration, Castiel had found… so much beauty and so much unneeded complication. Dean was so very fragile and protected himself with an impenetrable, outer exterior. He broke under the loss of loved ones, drowned out the hurt with copious amounts of alcohol. All in all, Dean was the puzzle that Castiel never had the chance to solve.

_Blood.. Sammy.. shit. Felt so real.._

Curiously, Castiel watched as Dean stood there silently in the dark, wrestling and picking through the details of his dream. Thoughts of how real it felt flashed through his mind again while his brother's name continuously repeated in the background, as if the name itself was his mantra to live by. Dean shelved his fears and began to move, intent on finding his brother in the living room, fast asleep and unharmed. He tried to thread together his shattered emotions, but became unraveled yet again when he finally saw Castiel. The quickening of his heart was a quiet blessing, its methodical pounding a foreshadowing to the flood. Suddenly, Castiel was assaulted by too many feelings, too many thoughts at one time. Relief followed by sadness and then dread.

_I miss you. I'm sorry. It's all my fault. Why are you here? _

It all ran together seamlessly, overlapping in a rush of truth that would never see the light of day. When the jumble of unspoken questions and regrets died down, Dean mentally cycled through the changes he noticed in him. The clean lines of an all-black suit that had replaced the dirty trench coat. The black tie that was perfect and neat, not crumbled or facing backwards. Dean categorized his expression as an 'I-own-the-fucking-world smug look', noticed the coldness in his eyes where they had once been warm.

Castiel didn't agree with his unspoken, mental assessment. If anything, the new God was more confident, held himself with greater poise. In quiet response, Castiel softened his features, returned his expression to something that Dean could recognize. But it didn't matter. Dean was blinded by his own pre-determined assertion, didn't see anything that belonged to his 'awkward, nerdy angel'. Dean had so many concerns, so many questions. In the din of Dean's confusion, Castiel heard a question repeated over and over.

_What's happened to you?_

But all Dean could say was…

"What the hell are you doing here, Cas?"

Castiel exhaled through his nose, nearly amazed at the polar opposite between what Dean thought and what he chose to voice instead.

"Castiel." The new God corrected evenly. "You will address me appropriately, Dean."

Dean steeled his jaw, bone tremulous under flawless skin. "Cas—"

"I am no longer your pet angel, Dean. No longer your ace in the hole. 'Cas' is dead. I am—"

"I don't know what or who the fuck you are anymore." Dean hissed.

"I am Castiel." As if that alone stated the obvious. "Your new God—"

"Cut the shit, Cas. We both know you're not a God. You're just juiced up on one too many fucking souls."

Castiel felt a surge of anger at being belittled once again, diminished to another ineffectual monster that Dean hunted week in and week out. He was much better than that. Castiel was God now, a new and better God, and Dean would soon see the truth. Outside, a long hiss of thunder pierced the silence between them and lightning flashed in the distance as if to punctuate that very fact. Yes, Dean would see that Castiel was God. Very clearly.

"Did you have a nightmare, Dean?" Castiel asked sharply.

Dean narrowed his eyes dangerously. "Did you—"

Castiel said nothing.

"You fucking dick."

"I strongly advise that you mind your words, Dean. You'd be amazed at how quickly I can turn dreams into reality."

And it was purely the truth. Yet somehow Dean felt entirely threatened. Castiel could feel Dean struggle between his anger and the hope that his 'Cas' was somewhere inside, beneath all those souls. That his 'Cas' wouldn't be threatening Dean and Sam. Not like this.

"This isn't you." Dean whispered defiantly.

"Isn't it? And why not, Dean? Is it so hard to believe that I found my breaking point? That _you_ were the one to break me?"

"Cas—"

"I am exhausted, Dean. Tired of treating you and your brother as if you were both fragile. Tired of sacrificing."

The power of his voice was downplayed to a quiet whisper, accentuating how very exhausted he truly was. Castiel was tired of it all; the constant fighting with the Winchester boys, the internal war he waged daily. The part of him that wanted nothing more than to simply surrender and disappear, to escape. The part that wanted to destroy everything. It was becoming more difficult to ascertain which side was winning.

"I will no longer sacrifice what I want for your sake. I have the power of achieving whatever it is I desire. And I plan to use that power however necessary. "

Dean narrowed his eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Do you know where you brother is, Dean?" Castiel asked quietly.

Dean's soul opened with another barrage of too much at one time, all centering around the safety and concern of his brother. The love that Dean held for Sam was eternally deep and raw, startling in how very all-encompassing it was. The love the boys shared for each other could move, even crush mountains. Another pang of jealousy struck in Castiel's gut. Sam was the key to it all. The very thing with which Castiel could hurt Dean the most—a weakness that was exploitable in every sense of the word. With that weakness, Castiel could bend Dean to his will, break him if he so desired. That knowledge shouldn't thrill him like it did and it pained him to resort to these measures. But how else could he make Dean see that they both deserved love?

"You son of a bi—" Dean hissed.

Castiel breathed deep and unleashed a true threat if only to incite fear within Dean. Fear led to love—and Castiel had to remember that, had to embody that principle.

"With just the snap of my fingers, his time in Hell will be nothing compared to what I'll do to him in Heaven."

It had the desired effect. A flash of fear sped through Dean like lightning. The hunter believed him. "You wouldn't—"

"Dean, you fail to remember that I'm no longer your… how did you phrase it…" Castiel thought a second and raised his fingers, ".. 'awkward, nerdy angel'.."

_Fucking air quotes._

"What do you want from me! Where is Sam?"

"Sam is safe with me, Dean. You needn't be concerned." A heavy pause broke the cadence. "Unless…"

"Safe with you? What the—" Dean ran a hand over his face in frustration. "What the fuck are you doing, Cas?"

_Why are you doing this to me..?_

Castiel felt a measure of guilt beneath the weight of Dean's unspoken question. He had to do this. It was the best for the both of them. "I am pursuing what I want—"

"For fuck's sake, Cas."

Castiel firmed his jaw. "Please don't anger me, Dean. Hell hath no fury like the wrath of God."

"Cas—" Dean hissed.

_You fucking child._

Castiel tried to calm himself, but it was too late. The damage had been done. He shivered with quiet rage, hated the insult with a passion. It left him feeling insignificant, as if he didn't deserve the respect he demanded. The spark of lightning and the deep growl of thunder that followed reflected the very depths of his displeasure. Dean jumped at the pyrotechnical outburst of light and sound and glanced toward the window. He couldn't see Castiel's hateful glare.

"You don't seem to understand the gravity of your situation, Dean." Castiel intoned evenly, stone-cold. "Perhaps I should remind you how it felt when you sliced into your brother's skin and ripped him asunder. Or how it felt to have his blood run free through your fingers. Do you need a visual reminder..?"

Even the memory of the nightmare filled Dean with slight nausea. Castiel was pleased, satisfied that he would indeed be taken seriously.

"I get it, Cas. I get it." Dean snapped. "What do you want, then? My soul?"

"I have no use for souls, Dean. Not anymore. I have all I need. No…" Castiel shook his head. "I just want you. All of you." More truth. "Your brother… for you."

The notion of yet another deal angered Dean considerably, the lines of his face hard with it, deep fissures of a frown spreading across his brow. Those green eyes told Castiel everything he needed to know and the glare Dean shot him exuded a quiet hatred. Not for his 'Cas', but for this… thing Castiel had become. Nothing would have pleased Castiel more than to go back to the way things had been—no, he was mistaken. He would never again be the lapdog for the Winchesters, the convenient errand boy. The weak, naive angel that had missed countless of references. It was better this way. Castiel convinced himself to stay the course.

"A deal, then..." Dean stated evenly, running a hand through short hair. "You've got to be fucking kidding me." He whispered, so tired and fed up. "No. I'm not going to agree to any fucked up deal, Cas. And you know I won't. There's another way—"

"To save him?" Castiel finished. "What leads you to believe that there's another option, Dean? Why do you think you have the luxury of choice? That I wouldn't hurt him while you're searching for your alternative solution?"

"Why are you doing this, Cas?" Dean said softly, obvious hurt lining his usually-strong voice. "This isn't you." He repeated with more conviction.

"You have my apologies, Dean." Castiel began. "But this is for your own good."

"My own good?" Dean growled, trying so hard to control his anger. "What did I ever do to you?"

"It's what you _didn't_ do." Castiel answered without missing a beat. "You didn't trust me when it was the only thing I had ever asked of you. You abandoned me when I needed you the most." His next admission felt heavy in his chest. "You failed me, Dean."

_I'm sorry._

"Cas—"

Castiel tilted his head to the side. "Am I being untruthful? How will you try to fix this, Dean? With another one of your falsely-genuine speeches? How… I'm a part of your family? That you can't lose me?" Castiel shook his head. "It's too late for any of that."

"I wasn't—"

_Lying._

Dean growled. "You know what? It doesn't even matter. You're too fucked up on all those souls to even listen." Dean hissed. "No deal."

"How is this different than all the other times you've sacrificed yourself for Sam?" Castiel reasoned. "You have no other choice."

"I said—"

"How much more can his fragile mind take, Dean?" Castiel growled out. "How much guilt can you shoulder when I finally break him… completely? Not even the Winchester brothers can hope to go up against God."

"You soulless son of a bitch. How could you even do this? I thought we were—"

_Family._

Dean couldn't finish and turned away instead, gut twisting in tandem with his thoughts. His inner dialogue ran over the possibilities, all the various ways he could go up against a God. Ideas that ranged from seeking Bobby's guidance to dying and dealing with Death—the only being that could possibly reap God. Anything other than making a deal with yet another too-powerful adversary. Dean tried to ignore the voice inside his head that told him to give up, that told him he was far too tired for any of this. The possibility of going up against another 'big bad' drained him. What would it be like to not have to deal with any of it? To finally rest?

While Dean continued to war with himself, Castiel listened, knew that Dean began to draw his strength from the memory of his brother. It was the strongest thing the new God had ever gone up against. And while Sam existed, Dean would never truly surrender, never give in.

"You don't have many choices, Dean. Nor do you have much time in which to make that choice." Castiel stated gravely.

"What do I have to say to get through to your thick skull? I said—"

Thunder cracked loudly and flickered the street lamps outside. The wind picked up, slamming against the house, fueled by the impatience of God.

"I grow tired of this, Dean. I will let your precious Sammy know how you failed him. Again."

The next flash of lightning splashed the silhouette of his enormous wings on the back wall, extended and full as if he were about to take flight. Castiel could feel the panic that spiked within Dean's soul, that caused him to throw caution to the wind. Dean was exhausted, tired of struggling, tired of fighting—and a part of him simply gave up. All of it to ensure that Sam wouldn't be harmed.

"Cas! Wait. I'll do it. Just… let him go."

Castiel shouldn't have rejoiced as much as he did. It was wrong to force Dean to act, but it had been absolutely necessary. He was silently thankful to Dean for playing his intended part brilliantly, for sacrificing himself for his one true weakness.

"I knew you'd make the right choice, Dean. I've always had faith in you." Silence stretched between them, running high with emotions. "There's just one more detail left to address."

Dean said nothing.

"Consummating the deal."

And that was all Castiel wanted. The highest expression of love shared between two human beings; copulation. After all Castiel had sacrificed, he was entitled to it. Now, he was worthy of Dean's love.

Dean narrowed his eyes and stared at him for a long time.

"Consum—" He couldn't even get the word out. "You mean… like Crowley? I have to kiss you or something?"

"More. The greater the deal—"

"Since when are you taking pages from Crowley's fucked up book of making contracts?" Dean hissed.

"Are he and I any different?" Castiel answered plainly.

"You've got to be—" Dean ran a hand over his face. "No, Cas. No fucking way. You know I don't swing that way."

Castiel believed him. "That is an insignificant detail—"

"For fuck's sake, Cas!" Dean snapped.

Castiel narrowed his eyes. "These are the terms of the contract—"

"But you can change them." Dean hissed.

"No."

Dean closed his eyes tightly, steeling his jaw. "Cas. I swear to Go—"

Outside, a roll of thunder split the sky open, hissed like a feral animal until it died quietly in the horizon.

"Don't take my name in vain, Dean. It makes me very angry."

"You know what, Cas? Fuck you. No. I'm not—"

Castiel growled low in his throat and advanced quickly. Dean couldn't move away in time before two fingers touched his temple, rendering him quiet and unable to move. Patience wasn't Castiel's virtue. If Dean wasn't prepared to give himself over willingly, the new God would have no choice but to convince him otherwise.

"Have you ever stopped to consider how truly magnificent the human body is, Dean? How everything is so… beautifully connected."

Castiel stared at him for a long time, mulling over all of his perfect details. The way freckles had been sprinkled over tan skin, the intense green eyes that now burned with quiet hatred. Everything about him was.. absolutely breath-taking.

"My Father's masterpiece.." Castiel whispered breathlessly before circling his still form. "I remember how He slaved over all the details of the human body, fine-tuning every piece to perfection. With its strengths, it also has its weaknesses. It's so very delicate. So very breakable."

Behind him, Castiel leaned in to whisper in his ear. "How does it feel to be fragile, Dean? To be so very human? How does it feel to experience things that angels long to feel?"

_Cas… I'm going to fucking kill you._

Thunder and lightning showed their displeasure, flashes of bright light and loud sound that accompanied Castiel's blossoming anger.

"Sensations such as _pain_…"

The desire to punish Dean was seductive, powerful, came to fruition in the way that Castiel balled up his fists at his sides. A God's duty was to correct his flock when they strayed.

The tightening of his fingers mimicked the constriction Dean now felt in his skull, the excruciating pain strong enough to render a man all but useless. Dean gasped and Castiel could feel his body as it began to surrender to the pain. He was suffering tenfold and Castiel watched with wonder as the hunter struggled to even breathe. Fear, pain, and everything else so very human, flashed through Dean's mind, revealed how truly delicate he was.

_Please... make it stop._

Dean looked so vulnerable in that second, perfect face reflecting his pain and torment. While he whimpered and closed his eyes to deal with the pain, Castiel prolonged his suffering until his own anger died down, until the sick joy in punishing Dean had truly faded. Like pain, he could command its opposite. Castiel extended two fingers and pressed them against Dean's temple. He had grown impatient for the conclusion of their contract.

"Pleasure."

With a gentle touch came the sudden overwhelming sensation of euphoria, stretching to every nerve ending in Dean's body. As the pain melted away, as it was slowly replaced with pleasure, Dean gasped sharply, sucked in a breath deep and filled his lungs with its decadence. With a single touch, Castiel had brought him to the brink of his ecstasy, the point at which vision blurred and the heart raced right before orgasm—a culmination that only Castiel could provide.

"How can you possibly deny me now, Dean Winchester, when your body is revolting against you. When every single fiber of your being is yearning for me, begging for release?"

Dean groaned belly-deep, breath already reaching a point where it was labored, slipping out of his partly-opened mouth in quick puffs of hot air. Instead of fear and anguish, his thoughts ran quick with '_more_' and the desperate need to sate his body's desires, to chase the white-hot light into pure oblivion.

"You will comply with the demands your new God has commanded of you, Dean. You have no choice. Not if you want me to spare Sam from an eternity of torture and pain."

_For Sammy…_

"Profess your love."

With a snap of his fingers, Castiel released Dean from his paralytic prison. No warning led to the flurry of greedy hands that found Castiel, that roamed over every inch of his body. The force and surprise of it all backed Castiel into a wall while Dean's fingers clawed at clothing, fumbled with buttons and seams, searching to find the bare flesh beneath. The sudden closeness of Dean was a strong intoxication, filling and overtaking Castiel's senses with everything that was _Dean_. His smell, his absolute warmth, lips that mouthed and kissed and sucked at his neck. Castiel stood frozen, confused and nearly overwhelmed while Dean worked at him, tearing and pulling at the last bits of clothing that separated them. Clothes littered the floor and they stood flesh to flesh, hot and close. Castiel didn't have time to contemplate his body's changes, the way his cock hardened, the way it felt to have Dean grinding against him. All the power in the universe couldn't have prepared him for this. Castiel was at a loss on how he should react, where he should place his hands, how far he could go. It was right then that Castiel had made a decision.

Stop thinking and just feel.

He listened to his body, let its desires and instincts rule him because plain knowledge could only help him so much. It was with an uncharacteristic tentativeness that Castiel touched him back, feather-light touches that were testing before they grew more firm, grabbing at Dean's hips to draw him in further. His body told him to melt into Dean, to completely give himself over to the sensation of Dean kissing his neck, biting the prominent vein in his throat. This was what Castiel wanted, the only thing he had wanted. And it was perfect in every single way.

Castiel leaned in, cheek to cheek, and placed a light kiss at the bolt of Dean's jaw, so gentle and so raw that he nearly didn't recognize himself. In Dean's arms, Castiel began to feel like himself again. Not the new God that had grown cold and uncaring, but the angel that was still completely in love with Dean Winchester. He couldn't fully register the transformation, couldn't think, not while Dean pressed his lips so hard and so desperate on his mouth, as if searching to find his 'Cas' inside of this new God.

Castiel inhaled sharply through his nose, surprised and taken aback by how passionately Dean kissed him. For the first few moments, Castiel struggled, unsure about the mechanics of it all, how to move his tongue, how far apart his lips should be. As usual, Castiel succumbed to follow Dean's lead, just like he had when he had been an angel. It felt… comforting to have Dean in control, felt safe and.. right. Like it should always be this way, like Castiel was never fit to lead. And if he could always have this—

Without thinking, Castiel returned the kissing tenfold and matched Dean's passion with his tongue, finally falling into an easy rhythm. He suddenly didn't care why Dean was doing this, if he was only doing this to save his brother or something else. Castiel chose to believe that Dean wanted this too, didn't dare probe into his thoughts to find out the truth. Dean moaned into him then, completely washing away any doubt. It was sinful and deep, like Dean had wanted this all along. And Castiel accepted that more than anything else.

Eagerly, with more confidence, Castiel moved his hands to the small of Dean's back, to pull him closer still. With the new proximity, Castiel's hips shot forward instinctively to catch just a bit of the friction between their bodies. They met somewhere in the middle, cocks brushing together with such intensity that it left Castiel moaning and breathless. He wanted more of that, of stiff flesh rubbing against each other. It felt.. incredible. Castiel let his hands slip down to palm at Dean's ass, squezzed there needfully several times before pulling at him roughly. They crashed together with every greedy pull, their hips so close together, sending shock waves of pure bliss up Castiel's spine each time their cocks joined heat. In the blur of everything, Castiel managed to lock onto Dean's thoughts, as if to make sure that he was just as pleased as Castiel was.

_Fuck.. _feels_.. so good._

Castiel soared, felt encouraged and the fervor with which he kissed and rubbed against Dean became more impassioned. It was too much, all at one time, and his senses were completely blown. He felt the need to escape then, to retreat and dissect every feeling and sensation one by one. Castiel wouldn't have that luxury, didn't want it when Dean wrapped him tight like he never wanted to let go, deepening the kiss so completely that Castiel nearly lost the strength in his knees. Tongues were bold and loose, searching and mapping every inch of each other as if this would be their first and last moments together. Castiel was dazed by the time Dean had the strength to break their connection, stunned by the rush of it all, by its pure perfection. Callused hands found Castiel's face, held him there so gently while green eyes stared into his.

"If we're going to do this, we're doing it my way." Dean whispered.

Castiel watched his lips move, yearned for their touch again, and licked his own. A part of him, the part that was still his 'Cas', his angel, wanted to submit and fall into him willingly. But the part that was all God, filled with hubris and entitlement, with unrequited desires and needs, disagreed.

"No. No, we're not. You're not in control." Castiel steeled his jaw. "I am."

Dean frowned.

"The devout serve better on their knees."

Unwillingly, Dean fell to his knees with a single touch, muscles giving out under the power of silent direction. Castiel knew exactly what he wanted from Dean in this compromising position. Dean knew it too and struggled against the notion by trying to stand. It was futile. His body revolted against him, kept the hunter on his knees. Castiel wouldn't force him, but would encourage instead—to the point that it would be ridiculous to resist. With another touch, Dean's body surged again to the very edge of his orgasm, sweet release denied until he fulfilled his part of the contract. Dean had no choice but to think with his cock, his brain made completely useless by lust alone, and pitched forward to kiss at the spur of Castiel's hip. Castiel groaned with the simplicity of it, marveled in how it set his nerve endings on fire. The new God wanted more, deserved more than kisses that teased his flesh. He felt such need then, urgent and demanding, to feel Dean's hot mouth around him, sucking him deep.

It was impatience that made Castiel grip the hunter's hair, pull it hard to guide Dean's mouth ever closer. He could feel Dean's hot breath over his cock, could feel it leap with the sensation. A groan announced Castiel's desperation, the sound urging Dean to take the bait in how incredibly pathetic and submissive it sounded. Castiel needed him, that much couldn't be denied. Castiel had always needed Dean. And now, Castiel needed him even more. All the power in the world wouldn't change that.

Castiel clung onto him, braced himself against the onslaught of Dean's kissing, the teasing lick that he sent from the root to the tip of his cock. A gasp punched out of Castiel's throat and he pressed his head against the wall, consumed by how.. indescribable it felt. Castiel's hands fell instinctively to Dean's head while he lapped at the tip with the flat of his tongue, the barely there contact driving Castiel insane. He couldn't take it anymore. Before Dean could lick again, Castiel growled and closed the distance between mouth and cock with a forceful pull, offering Dean no choice but to envelop him whole. Dean grunted with the unwarranted intrusion and dug thumbs into hips, throwing Castiel back into the wall. It was Dean's version of correcting his overzealousness, his way of telling Castiel that his impatience wasn't acceptable. Castiel didn't care. He was too lost in how incredible Dean's mouth felt, the way it welcomed all of him, sliding up and down his shaft obscenely. Moans fell dirty and loose from Castiel's lips, overshadowing the wet noises that Dean's mouth made. Who knew a God could moan the way he did.

Dean seemed to want this as much as Castiel did, if only for the very promise of his release. Dean couldn't escape, not with how tightly Castiel held onto him, how urgently he took from his mouth. Nor did he want to, that much was clear when Dean took to sucking cock like he was born for it. Castiel choked back the whimper in his throat as Dean's lips, full and drawn tight, concentrated on the head, lavishing it with his tongue and just enough of his mouth. Greedy, Castiel shifted his hold on Dean, hands on either side of his head, and shot his hips forward to take instead of ask. The unsolicited furtherance of cock into Dean's mouth earned another digging of fingertips into hips. With the rush of warmth and the pain, Castiel couldn't help but groan aloud and revel in the experience. Castiel shivered as the hot silk of Dean's mouth slid down his shaft again in long, slow strokes, spurning the reflexive thrust of his hips forward. Castiel felt powerful like this with Dean's mouth wrapped around his cock, forcing him into submission. Dean Winchester on his knees in front of him… the notion was heady and Castiel became bolder, more arrogant.

"How does it feel your worship your God…"

Dean moaned around him, mouth flush and full with cock. Castiel pitched his hips forward and nearly buckled at the sensation of Dean swallowing him down, deeper and back to the opening of the throat. Quickly, Castiel learned that it felt even more incredible the further his cock was sheathed by Dean's mouth. So incredible that he soon became lost in it, became oblivious to everything else. Even Dean's discomfort.

With '_more_' at the forefront of his mind, Castiel held Dean's head still while he pushed his hips forward with abandon, making use of every inch of the hunter's mouth. He pushed his cock further in until it couldn't move anymore, until Dean began to struggle beneath him. Why, he didn't know. Castiel quickly learned that humans had their limits; that their throats weren't endless, that there was a point in which the mouth gave up and the throat refused to take over. Castiel hit Dean's gag reflex once, twice, before the hunter growled around him and dug fingers into sharp hipbones. It was Dean's fear of choking and panic that finally woke Castiel from his blissful reverie. Castiel had never intended to harm Dean. But that didn't matter. It was too late.

Dean bit him. Hard.

With a howl, Castiel pushed him away and backed further into the wall, as if trying to simply melt into it. He looked down at himself to assess the damage and then glared at Dean. More damage had been to his feelings than his physical being. Castiel felt rejected, reprimanded. And that simply wasn't acceptable. The sudden presence of thunder and lightning served as Dean's only warning.

Castiel voiced his disapproval with a back-hand to Dean's face.

Dean's head snapped to the side with the force of the blow. He tried to open his mouth, but couldn't get the words out before hands were quick to grab at him. Firm and brutal, Castiel latched his fingers around Dean's throat and lifted the hunter up to his feet. As always, Dean struggled against the oppression, hissed at him, grabbed at his wrist and tried to dig his nails into the flesh there. Nothing deterred Castiel from twisting the both of them, throwing Dean into the wall front first, laying the way for his God to come up quickly behind him. Castiel heard Dean grunt as their bodies crashed together, the pressure of the sudden weight blowing out precious air from his lungs.

"I will trade you pain for pain, _Dean_."

The whisper was sharp and laden with such venom that it was hardly familiar to even himself. Castiel ignored Dean's growl, the way he struggled against him. Dean no longer wanted this, but Castiel didn't care. It was far too late.

"I'm going to fucking kill you when this is over!"

"You can't, Dean. You're just a man." Castiel hissed. "I am God."

The vengeful God didn't prepare him, didn't stretch or open him up. Castiel didn't have the mind to, didn't apply the knowledge that he had gained. The darker part of him wanted Dean to feel the pain, to be punished for what he did. Wasting no more time, Castiel slicked himself down with his own saliva, precome aiding in what would be rough penetration. He offered no warning before sliding into Dean, finding that it was more difficult than he had thought. Dean cried out with every painful moment and struggled, trying to do anything he could to dissuade Castiel. Nothing worked. Dean's punch to his thigh was ineffectual, his pathetic whimpers fell on deaf ears. No, Dean needed to be punished, needed to fulfill his end of the bargain. Suddenly, Dean didn't matter.

All that mattered was what God wanted.

But Castiel wasn't without mercy. He stilled his hips to allow Dean to become accustomed to the hard warmth that inched in to fill him completely up. Castiel felt Dean shudder beneath him, gasp with the new sensations out of pain and discomfort. Easily, Castiel could have touched the pain away, could have replaced it all with ecstasy. But Dean didn't deserve that. Not after everything he had done. Dean deserved a little bit of pain and heartache because, in that second, Castiel was so infuriated with him. All of that washed away when Castiel finally began to rock into him, as Dean's body swallowed him up with every single movement. Dean was so warm, so tight, and so welcoming, throwing Castiel into a world that was worth more than Heaven itself. Castiel pitched his head forward to mouth at Dean's shoulder, to bite it while he moved, savoring absolutely everything. Because of his impatience, because Castiel wanted to feel all of him now, the pace became too much and too fast. Dean cried out with it, hissed, and tried to voice his disapproval.

"Fuck, Cas—"

"Be silent."

Castiel's iron-tight fingers clamped over his mouth to keep him from saying anything else. He didn't want to hear '_no_', didn't want to hear excuses. He only wanted Dean's silent sacrifice. And Castiel would take it. Willingly.

Chasing his pleasure, Castiel couldn't stop to tend to Dean's needs and ignored the way he whimpered with each thrust until pain finally gave way to ecstasy. Dean became more of a willing partner then, moving with Castiel's rocking hips instead of against, bodies like silk and water; fluid and perfect. As Dean leaned into him, back against Castiel's chest, the new God accepted the living, willing sacrifice and sent the flat of his palms over every inch of him. Castiel's hands coveted bare skin, smoothing over chest and stomach, down to the hard cock that leapt at the attention. The rhythm never faltered as Castiel explored every inch of Dean, cock slipping in and out of him while soft fingers graced and titillated flesh. Greedily, fingertips danced upward, teased and pinched at nipples before moving on, drawing an earthy, deep groan from Dean's lips. Nothing could break this moment, how together and in-sync they were. The hold of the angry God gave way to one that was gentle, loving, that lavished Dean with adoration and worship. With each pivot of their bodies, with each slip and slide of wet skin on skin, Dean's groans became more desperate, needy, begging for the release that Castiel continued to deny him.

_Harder… harder._

Even amid the height of their joining, Castiel was greedy for Dean's thoughts and was rewarded for the effort, blessed to know what Dean wanted in that second. Always a soldier, Castiel obeyed and slammed into him over and over again, savoring every single heated noise that Dean made for him. Deep groans, whimpers and his crying out were more sweet, more beautiful than the Heavenly choir itself. Castiel accepted his noises as if they were worship hymns, sought more by driving into Dean as hard as he dared. He could feel his own orgasm then, just there, right there, swelling to an unmanageable height. Had to keep it controlled, so close—

Dean whimpered and sent a hand up and over, to grab at Castiel's hair and grip it hard.

"God… please."

Castiel didn't know if Dean was taking his name in vain or addressing his angel as what he had become. He didn't care. His orgasm, exceedingly powerful and sudden, answered for him. Castiel cried out with it and the streetlamps blew out as the sky roared to life with light and sound. His orgasm shot through him, overtook him completely with its sensation and left him weak and all but useless in his wake. Somehow, during, Castiel had the mind to place his palm at the back of Dean's head to release the hold on his body. And together, they reveled in the fruit of their joining, breathing the same, hot labored air, sharing the same space. Castiel held Dean until he saw fit to let go, saw it just to leave Dean collapsed on the floor in a boneless pile of exhaustion.

Castiel watched him quietly as he came down from his body's bliss, stood before him fully dressed and calm as if nothing had truly happened, as if it had been both of their imaginations. Dean looked up at him, tried to speak, but Castiel was quick to cut him off instead.

"Your brother was never in danger."

Castiel had reverted to being cold, distant and uncaring. And his smirk was telling.

"What?" Dean was incredulous.

"Sam wasn't—"

"I heard you!" Dean snapped. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"It's time to say goodbye to your brother, Dean."

"Cas—" Dean growled.

"Get up."

Castiel could feel how confused Dean was, could hear it in his thoughts. He ignored it all and grabbed at Dean's arm to hoist him up to his feet. Dean struggled but it didn't matter because Castiel was then dragging him, out of the room and to the stairs. Bobby's home was just as Castiel had remembered; dingy and old, and everything else non-descript. The pair of them thundered down the dark stairwell before Dean was suddenly pitching forward, spilling onto the floor after Castiel had practically pushed him. Dean didn't care about the new bruises, cared only that Sam was in front of him now, on the couch, sleeping peacefully. With rage and hatred, Dean snapped a glare at him.

"You son of a bitch—"

"I wanted something badly. So I lied." Castiel stated evenly. "You taught me that."

"Fuc—"

"Dean..?"

Castiel watched as Dean turned away to stare at his brother. He tried to ignore how.. complete Dean felt in that moment, to just be near Sam, to hear his voice, to see him. Jealousy, anger, everything that a fair God shouldn't feel sparked to life and consumed Castiel in that second.

"Sammy..?"

"Dean. What's going on?" Sam glared at Castiel. "Cas..? What—what are you doing here?"

Hate. Castiel hated the overwhelming sense of love that Dean felt for Sam—

"Sam. Take care of my baby. Don't douche her up again, man."

"What? Why? What the hell is going on?"

—hated the way that Sam always came first in Dean's life. Hated how no one else ever mattered. And as the rage boiled—

"I made a deal, Sam. To save you. Except.. you were never in danger. Sam, you gotta—you gotta just let this be. Don't come after me. Do you hear me? He'll kill you!"

"I don't care about that, Dean. I can't—"

"Promise me!"

"Dean…"

—Castiel had found his last nerve. Dean was _his_.

"Sammy… please.."

"Enough!" Castiel hissed. "It's time to go."

Dean glared at him. "Fuck you, Cas. I haven't said goodbye—"

"You just did."

With that, Castiel lurched forward to grab at Dean's upper arm. Sam jumped off the couch to intersect, to somehow rescue his brother. But he was too late. Sam couldn't reach them in time before they disappeared. And in that last second, while they could still see each other, Dean reached out for his brother in a futile effort to be saved.

"Sammy!"


End file.
